


Gaffer Wolf

by dkthunderIV



Category: Fables (Willingham) - All Media Types
Genre: Nudity, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 00:52:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3402413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dkthunderIV/pseuds/dkthunderIV
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He's a legend in the flesh, a beast that has done nothing but kill for the past few centuries.  Now, as a human, he has a lot to learn.  Thankfully, Snow is a good teacher.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gaffer Wolf

**Author's Note:**

> I forget where the actual prompt went, but someone had the great idea of Snow being the "this is how to human" instructor for Bigby way back in the day, so I ran with it. If the person who came up with this idea comes along, I hope you like it. Also, contact me so I can have it down in writing that the idea's yours.

Snow regards the wolf with a little unease, kneeling defensively in front of the large beast.  Sure, he had agreed to be turned into a man, but that doesn't quell the uneasiness she’s feeling.  Carefully, she looks him over, noting the battle scars and the streaks of brown that ran through his otherwise perfectly dark fur.  Feathertop gently paces out of her immediate vision, trying not to be noticed.

“Give me your paw,” she says quietly.  He acquiesces immediately, to her surprise, placing it in her hand.  Gently, she turns it so its pad faced her, and readied the lycanthropy knife.

“This will hurt,” she mutters, quickly bringing the knife to bear and slicing open the thick skin.  He howls, melodrama mixed with light pain, and rips his paw away.  Snow looks away, too afraid to look.  The howling is slowly replaced by panting, and she hears him flop to the grass, sounding lighter than he did before.  She cautiously looks, unprepared for what she may see.

To her relief, a naked man sits in front of her, probing his injured hand.  The hair atop his head stops past his shoulders, mousy brown and tangled, and nearly every other part of him had at least some hair on him.  While trying not to stare at his crotch, she observes how powerful his muscles look even as a human, making him look much larger than her.  He catches her staring, regarding her cooly with half-lidded eyes, and unsteadily stands at his full height.

She jolts up immediately, meeting his gaze.  While he may be much stronger than she, he is only taller by a few inches.  Belatedly, she realizes he’s glaring, uninjured hand flexing into a fist.  The lycanthropy knife draws very close to his privates without her realizing how deep the scowl on her face is.

“Tell me, Gaffer Wolf,” she murmurs sardonically, “Do you know how to walk like a man?”

“Perhaps,” he mutters back without the usual rumble of his tone, taking the challenge.  She steps to the side, and he takes a few uneasy steps before he trips and tumbles to the ground.

Snow unfastens her cloak, resting it atop his shoulders before helping him stand again.  While he may not be very tall, the cloak that fell near her ankles barely brushed his knees.

“Feathertop?” she calls.  The scarecrow snaps to attention immediately, just as the former wolf drew the cloak around him, hiding his crotch.  “He’ll need clothes.”

* * *

 

Days later, he's seated in the business office, looking and feeling very out of place.  By the time she reaches him, night has fallen.  He sullenly regards the candles illuminating the room, and doesn't look up when she seats herself in front of him.  Just before she speaks, she notices him shiver, the thin summer clothes he wears doing nothing to prevent the chill.

"Do you know why I brought you here?" she begins.

"I would say it was to torture me, but I don't think that's the right answer," he says sarcastically.  She smirks.  Maybe she'll be able to get along with him.

"No.  I will teach you to be a man."

"Is that so?" he teases, leaning forward in jest.  "What do we start, princess? Etiquette lessons?  Ballroom dancing?"

"Hygiene," she says flatly.  "Then reading and writing."

He is silent a moment.  Then, he shrugs, and stands.

"Lead the way, then."

* * *

He has to admit, the bath was an unexpected pleasure.  Snow showed him how to heat up with water just right, and once he got a handle on soap, she let him rest there until the water chilled.  After a few straight days of nothing but noisy people and scents, the hour or so he had to himself in the warm water was a blessing.

Then, when he's dry and dressed once again, she hands him a razor and some peculiar smelling cream.

"And just what is this?" he asks, legitimately curious.

"I'm going to teach you how to shave your chin."

"You realize that it will grow back soon enough, correct?"

"Yes, but shaving it will keep it tame," she says lightly.

"Who says I'll be tame?" he retorts, not fully serious.  "And... Where would you need to shave?  Excuse my asking so, but I don't see any whiskers on _your_ chin."

"Just trust me," she says.  She moves him in front of a mirror, and begins spreading the cream on his face.  He splutters a little, but otherwise remains quiet and attentive.

"Once you have the cream on, just use the sharp end of the razor to take off the hair," she explains.  "Just be careful not cut yourself."

He initially fumbles with the blade, nicking his foreign cheek bone and drawing a drop of blood.  Afterwords, he's able to use it without a problem.

"Then, just rinse it off in a basin."

Surprisingly enough, there is a large bowl of water underneath him.  He scoops up water and scrubs all the loose hair off, inspecting the hair-speckled bowl after he was done with some pride.  Then he looks himself in the mirror; though he had grown accustomed to seeing himself with a ragged beard, perhaps clean-shaven (or close to it) wasn't so bad.

"You said something about reading and writing?" he says, unexpectedly gentle.

"To the desk," she responds, loosely tugging his forearm.  He returns to his seat, finding a child's reading book, a pen and parchment resting in front of him.

"Sorry we don't have anything more sophisticated than that," she says, pointing to the primer.  "I just wasn't sure whether or not you already knew how to read."

"I did.  I appreciate your preparedness, Miss White," he says, finally cracking a small smile.  "It's hard to write with paws, however."

"I expected as such," she responds quaintly.  She pushes the parchment towards him, and places the pen in his unsteady right hand.  He grips it in a white knuckled fist, and she stands to deftly correct the position of his fingers.  "Just try to scribble until you get a feeling for it."

Several minutes pass, and the top half of the page is filled with scribbles and half-hearted doodles.  Finally, she stops him, resting one dainty hand on top of his.

"Now," she murmurs.  "Look at the letters from the primer.  Try writing your full name."

"My full?..."

"I've no idea what to call you.  I figured this would be a start."

He nods, still a little uneasy.  It takes him quite a few minutes, but he manages to scrawl  _Bigby Wolf_ out in the bottom corner.

"I assume Bigby is short for?..."

"Big Bad Wolf, yes," he says.  "It was a nickname, originally."

"Well then, Bigby," she replies softly.  "It's very late, and you've made an excellent start.  Come back tomorrow, and I'll teach you more."

He rises, and confidently strides to the door, bare feet quiet against the tile.

"... I'll teach you about shoes," she says to his retreating figure, more to herself than anything.  He chuckles, and finds himself looking forward to it.

 


End file.
